I find that the harder I work, the more luck I seem to have.

I find that the harder I work, the more luck I seem to have.

All Nature seems at work, slugs leave their lair--
The bees are stirring--birds are on the wing--
read more

All Nature seems at work, slugs leave their lair--
The bees are stirring--birds are on the wing--
And Winter, slumbering in the open air,
Wears on his smiling face a dream of Spring!
And I the while, the sole unbusy thing,
Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing.

Work expands so as to fill the time available for its completion.

Work expands so as to fill the time available for its completion.

Who first invented work, and bound the free
And holyday-rejoicing spirit down . . .
To that read more

Who first invented work, and bound the free
And holyday-rejoicing spirit down . . .
To that dry drudgery at the desk's dead wood? . . .
Sabbathless Satan!

By the way,
The works of women are symbolical.
We sew, sew, prick our fingers, dull out read more

By the way,
The works of women are symbolical.
We sew, sew, prick our fingers, dull out sight,
Producing what? A pair of slippers, sir,
To put on when you're weary--or a stool
To tumble over and vex you . . . curse that stool!
Or else at best, a cushion where you lean
And sleep, and dream of something we are not,
But would be for your sake. Alas, alas!
This hurts most, this . . . that, after all, we are paid
The worth of our work, perhaps.

The Lord had a job for me, but I had so much to do,
I said, "You get somebody read more

The Lord had a job for me, but I had so much to do,
I said, "You get somebody else--or wait till I get through."
I don't know how the Lord came out, but He seemed to get along:
But I felt kinda sneakin' like, 'cause I know'd I done Him wrong.
One day I needed the Lord--Needed Him myself--needed Him right
away,
And He never answered me at all, but I could hear Him say
Down in my accusin' heart, "Nigger, I'se got too much to do,
You get somebody else or wait till I get through."

A work of art that contains theories is like an object on which the price tag has been left.

A work of art that contains theories is like an object on which the price tag has been left.

Work thou for pleasure--paint or sing or carve
The thing thou lovest, though the body starve--
Who read more

Work thou for pleasure--paint or sing or carve
The thing thou lovest, though the body starve--
Who works for glory misses oft the goal;
Who works for money coins his very soul.
Work for the work's sake, then, and it may be
That these things shall be added unto thee.

I like work; it fascinates me. I can sit and look at it for
hours. I love to keep read more

I like work; it fascinates me. I can sit and look at it for
hours. I love to keep it by me: the idea of getting rid of it
nearly breaks my heart.